Trigger warning: be careful with this one. This has strong reference to depression. Suicide. Self harm. Death.
She's dreaming of flowers.
Of dresses in white.
While I thinking of shadows
and caskets closed tight.
She's practiced her dancing,
and singing her glee
While I'm choking on sorrow,
and refusing to breathe.
Through ballads of splendor
and bouquets of roses.
I'm counting the pills
and doubling doses.
She's picked all the place mats,
and picked out a day
I'm counting down minutes
till I'm finally 'ok'.
She waits for the stars
makes dozens of wishes,
I'm holding my wrists,
counting the stitches.
She is such a marvel,
a future so bright.
I'll be truly surprised
if I last through the night.
She's smiling for pictures
and standing so proud.
I often times wonder
Does she know I'm not around?
She's holding her roses,
and dressed up in white.
I'm finally peaceful,
with my casket sealed tight.
YOU ARE READING
A Dash of Madness
PoetryThe mind is a horrible thing to waste. Now when you have a mind like mine, where monsters come out to play and happy things come in bursts, it helps to write things down. From bad days to good days and everything in between I try to make sense of...
